


London’s Finest

by NotManTheLessButNatureMore



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Gen, Robin is the only sensible person here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 06:17:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17844029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotManTheLessButNatureMore/pseuds/NotManTheLessButNatureMore
Summary: Strike gets into a spot of bother with the law.





	London’s Finest

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fun little drabble.

Robin woke in a daze, the moon casting the only light, to a shrill ringing sound. She looked around her room and then realised it was a phone call and not her alarm. Her phone was by her pillow and Robin saw Wardle’s name on the screen.

 

“Wardle? What time is it?”

 

“Just after four. Sorry for waking you Robin.”

 

“What’s up?” She asked with a yawn and pulled the duvet over her head.

 

“Strike needs a lift, I’d do it but I’m on a short lease with the sergeant after last week’s arrest went bad.”

 

“A lift? From where?” Robin said as she sat up.

 

“The police station near Whitehall.” Wardle said and Robin thought she heard a smile in his voice.

 

“What?” Robin was out of bed now and pulling a jumper from her wardrobe.

 

“Fucking idiot got himself nicked.”

 

“What? Why?” Memories of the Donald Laing case came to mind.

 

“I’ll let him explain. Don’t worry though, it’s not serious.” Wardle said his goodbyes for now and then Robin was rushing out of her flat with the keys to the Land Rover and cursing her idiot of a partner.

 

The drive to Whitehall was quick enough as the London traffic was almost nonexistent at this time on a Tuesday. Wardle was waiting outside the station when she arrived and he ended the call he was on as she approached. He had a smirk on his face and she gave him a stern look. A yawning middle aged police officer was sitting at the front desk while another was holding a man, clearly intoxicated, by the arm. Wardle walked her down a corridor and then stopped outside the fifth cell and kicked the heavy metal door with his foot.

 

“Fuck off Wardle.” Strike’s gruff voice came from beyond the door.

 

Wardle smiled to himself and pulled a key from his pocket. The door opened and revealed Strike, sitting on the edge of the thin mattress, his shirt crumpled and his jacket rolled up like it had been used as a pillow. He looked from Robin to Wardle and back again.

 

“Bollox.” He said quietly as he let out a long breath.

 

“Lovely way to greet your saviours.” Wardle remarked. Strike just glared at him.

 

“What the hell Cormoran?” Robin said, which just garnered an irritated moan from Strike as he waved his hand dismissively.

 

“Smart mouth here decided that verbally abusing an officer of the law was a smart choice.” Wardle offered.

 

“He was a twat.” Strike countered and Robin noticed a slight slur in his voice.

 

“Agreed, but it was still a stupid choice gooner.”

 

“Can someone please just tell me what happened?” Robin said in exasperation.

 

“I thought you were going to call me a cab?” Strike said to Wardle.

 

“And miss landing you in it with this one? No chance mate.”

 

“Strike!” Robin’s voice rang through the cell.

 

“Alright, alright. I went out for a few drinks with Shanker, so I’ll admit I wasn’t in one of the most respectable parts of London, and I’d parked the BMW ‘round the side.”

 

“You didn’t?” Robin warned.

 

“Course I didn’t. Nice to know you’ve got such faith in me though.” Strike said, looking offended and causing Wardle to snort.

 

“My Oyster card wasn’t in my wallet so I went to check if it had fallen out in the car and then along comes Inspector fucking Clouseau. Probably would have tased me on the spot if he had the mental capacity to be trusted with one.”

 

“Strike.” Wardle warned as Cormoran’s voice had gotten louder.

 

“Says to me “Step away from the vehicle and show me your hands” so I did. Then he starts on at me about drunk driving like I’ve plowed into a load of puppies or something. I told him I hadn’t driven anywhere I was just looking in the car, the engine wasn’t even on. Then he orders me to walk a straight line, clearly he’s forgotten that breathalysers exist. I told him to fuck off-“

 

“Cormoran!”

 

“What, he was being a twat about it. Anyway he tells me to walk a straight line so I do and of course it’s not straight cause I’ve had a few. Anyway, I turned back to shut the car door and he starts trying to put handcuffs on me and threatening to call for backup so I blamed the dodgy walking on my leg and said he was discriminating against the drunk and disabled.” Strike’s rant ended and Robin turned to see Wardle smiling.

 

“Should have let him call for backup, might have got to meet Postman Pat and Bob the builder.” Strike mumbled drunkenly and Wardle stifled a laugh.

 

“You’re both idiots.” Robin surmised as she rolled her eyes.

 

“You’re free to go. Robin here will kindly escort you home.” Strike stood and wobbled for a second as he turned to gather his coat.

 

“Has he been charged with anything?” Robin asked Wardle.

 

“Nah, the case would be thrown out before a judge got a whiff of it. The engine wasn’t on and he wasn’t even sitting in the driver seat.” Wardle explained as Strike walked past them and out of the cell. Robin thanked Wardle and then hurried after Strike. It had begun to softly rain and Robin ran to jump into the Land Rover. Strike was searching his coat pockets as he all but fell into the passenger seat.

 

“Bastards took my smokes.” He exclaimed. Upon turning he saw Robin’s stern look and silently put his seat belt on. They drove in silence for a few minutes before Strike started turning about in his seat.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“My back’s done in after lying on that mattress.”

 

“How long were you there?”

 

“Few hours before I convinced one of them to call Wardle, who then called you. Sorry about that by the way.” He said and finally settled half turned towards her with a hand on his knee.

 

“I suppose it could be worse.” Robin pondered and caught Strike’s raised eyebrow.

 

“You could be up on a murder charge.”

 

“True.” He said with a slight nod of his head.

 

“Killing one of her majesty’s finest wouldn’t be great for business.”

 

“We could always become hitmen for hire.” He suggested.

 

“What about a hitwoman?”

 

“Nah, you’d never kill anyone. You catch spiders and set them free out my office window.” Strike mused.

 

“Course they’re probably killed by the fumes from the heating unit outside.”

 

Robin looked at him and smiled as they sped through the quiet streets of London under the orange glow of street-lamps.

**Author's Note:**

> No offense to Inspector Clouseau, Bob the builder or Postman Pat. Or of course London’s Metropolitan Police Service (who in real life are much closer to Wardle than Strike’s arresting officer).
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading.


End file.
